


No Better Reason

by red_crate



Series: Gift Fics [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles, Come Eating, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Under-negotiated Kink, slut kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 09:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10694280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: “Didn't you say something about not distracting me?” Stiles turns in Peter's hands, getting onto his knees to face the back of the couch so he can kiss Peter properly. “This is definitely a distraction.”“You're clearly very torn up about it.”





	No Better Reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkHunterJenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHunterJenn/gifts).



> My friend (who this is dedicated to) dragged me into this pairing recently, and my creative energies have been dedicated to it. Instead of finishing any of the 4 or 5 fics I've started over the past few weeks, I wrote this porn one-shot. *Sigh* Thanks, brain. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“What are you doing?” Stiles only half-heartedly suppresses the smile that springs up when a claw draws a teasing line down the back of his neck. Goosebumps rush down his arms even as arousal blooms low in his gut. The textbook on his lap is a reminder that he's supposed to be reading this chapter. It doesn't have much of a chance of holding his attention though, especially when Peter is looming above him.

Stiles drops his head to the back of the couch so he can look up at Peter who is standing behind him. It has the desired effect of drawing Peter's eye to his neck. He smirks. “I'm doing my homework, Peter.”

Peter's eyes track the movement of Stiles’ jaw. His fingers brush along Stiles’ cheek, then he curves his thumb along the jut of Stiles’ chin. “I'm not stopping you.” He rests his palm on Stiles’ throat, an immediate pressure on Stiles’ Adam's Apple; it's not a threat, but a reminder and a comfort.

Peter looks at Stiles with dark blue eyes full of intent. Stiles used to worry about that look, because it meant Peter was plotting something. Now though, it means the same as it did then, but these days those plots tend to turn out well for Stiles. Case in point, the way Peter has bent down to kiss Stiles deeply.

Their tongues slide along one another before Peter nips at Stiles’ bottom lip. He pulls back, and flips Stiles’ textbook shut. “I'm much more interesting than toxicology.” Peter picks the book up and tosses it to the coffee table, then cups the front of Stiles’ pants.

He's bent over Stiles with one hand around Stiles’ throat and the other on his half hard cock. Stiles feels no fear, only desire and love.

“Didn't you say something about not distracting me?” Stiles turns in Peter's hands, getting onto his knees to face the back of the couch so he can kiss Peter properly. “This is definitely a distraction.” He smiles against Peter's lips, and threads his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Peter's head.

“You're clearly very torn up about it.” Peter lightly bites Stiles’ earlobe before moving back to Stiles’ mouth. The rough of Peter's goatee drags a delicious shiver out of Stiles.

They kiss lazily for a few long moments. Stiles’ erection is pressed against the couch cushions, but he doesn't rut into them, happy to ride out this languid arousal simmering inside. Eventually, Peter breaks away, trailing a hand down Stiles’ arm. “Come here.” He tugs Stiles until he has to either topple over or awkwardly climb over the back of the couch.

Peter helps Stiles balance with his other hand placed on Stiles’ hip, grip firm and insistent until there isn't a breath between them. He raises the arm he still has a hold of. Peter smooths his thumb over Stiles’ palm before bringing it up to his mouth, and kisses him there. It's a simple gesture, and it causes Stiles to melt a little inside. Then, Peter's teeth are pressing against Stiles’ rapidly increasing pulse. The delicate skin on the inside of Stiles’ wrist would be no work for Peter's fangs, and yet all Stiles can think is _yes_.

He makes a caught sound, and slips his free hand beneath the hem of Peter's shirt. His skin is taut and warm. Stiles drags his blunt nails up, over Peter's stomach, and pushes him away. “Bed,” he demands. “ _Now.”_

Peter's eyes sparkle as he lets Stiles’ little shove carry him backwards a half step. He lets go of Stiles’ hip, but doesn't release the hold he has on Stiles’ wrist. With a smirk, he says, “No, I think I'm going to go run some errands. After all, you do have so much reading to do.” Peter sighs, put upon, and swings his and Stiles’ arms where they hang between them.

“Shut up.” Stiles twists his hand until he can lace his fingers with Peter's. He tugs Peter down the hallway to the bedroom, and shoves him down onto the bed.

Peter allows himself to be manhandled out of his shirt and pants. When he's laid out completely naked with Stiles straddling his thighs, Peter curls a hand around his own cock. “Well, now that you have me on the bed, what are you going to do with me?”

His eyes are almost all pupil now, and the glint of precome seeping from the head of his cock catches the light. Peter is basking in his unashamed nakedness while Stiles hasn't shed a single item of clothing, too preoccupied with the need to undress Peter.

“I could just leave you here as punishment.” Stiles can't help but tease even though he has absolutely no intention of going back to the living room right now.

Stiles runs his palms over the solid muscles of Peter's stomach and the smattering of hair on his chest, and rubs his thumb over one of Peter's nipples. “You could,” Peter allows, only to arch an eyebrow at Stiles. “But we both know you're far too impatient for that.”

Stiles scoffs, but Peter sits up, skating his nails up Stiles’ spine, underneath his shirts. “And I happen to enjoy your impulsiveness.” He licks a line up Stiles' throat.

“I would like to point out that you're  a the one who started this. I’ll take the compliment though.” Stiles shimmies out of his shirts, in between kissing Peter. Then he thumbs open his jeans as he leans forward again, to relieve the pressure on his dick. Peter's mouth is slick and it curves up when Stiles kisses him this time.

“Mm,” Peter hums appreciatively as he slides his other hand in the back of Stiles’ jeans to grab an ass cheek. Stiles isn't wearing any boxers. His fingers creep towards the cleft, down until he traces a finger around Stiles' hole.

“What do you want, sweet boy?” Peter's voice is deep and smooth in Stiles’ ear. He rolls his tongue against the cartilage there, and suddenly all Stiles can think about is Peter going down on him.

Stiles is grinding into the crease of Peter's hip, gasping into his neck. “Your mouth.”

The pressure of Peter's finger on his hole is edging him forwards. Stiles rocks backwards, and bears down enough for the furl of muscle to give way just enough to let Peter’s fingertip pop inside with a static scratch of dry enticement.

Carefully pulling his finger free, Peter then shoves at the top of Stiles’ jeans while Stiles rolls off him, breathing harshly. “You're a fucking menace,” Peter mutters, maybe talking about Stiles going commando or maybe meaning how Stiles had fucked himself back into Peter's hand, dry and unprepared. He doesn't sound upset about it in the least.

“Do something about it, then.”  Stiles pants the words out without giving them much thought. The low burning need that had been willing to wait while they made out in the living room has burst into an incessant thing screaming in his nerves. He needs to come, and make Peter come in turn.

Peter watches Stiles scramble up the bed until his head hits the pillows. Peter is kneeling on the foot of the bed, cock thick and curved a little to one side. He looks calculating, and hotter than the damn sun as his gaze drags over Stiles’ casually spread legs, up to where Stiles’ cock is wet and has left a smear of precome on his stomach. Finally, Peter locks his eyes on Stiles’, and crawls up.

The first long stripe of Peter's tongue along the underside of Stiles’ dick is heaven. Peter kisses the base, and gives another lick before swallowing Stiles down until the head pushes at the back of his throat. It's hot, wet suction, and Stiles groans loudly, twisting his fingers in Peter's hair. His legs shift on the bed, muscles tensing and relaxing as he tries to keep from bucking his hips up.

Peter's hands feel like they're everywhere: on Stiles’ dick, cupping his balls, running over Stiles’ stomach and thighs. Then Peter is pushing at Stiles’ knees until they bend up, legs spread wide. He backs off of Stiles, and kisses the inside of one of his knees.

“What? No? Why'd you stop?” Stiles was really into letting Peter suck his brains out through his cock. “Come back.” He makes grabby hands at Peter.

“I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart.” Peter promises, low and devilishly.

The slick slide of Peter's tongue over Stiles’ hole has Stiles gripping the sheets and swearing. “Fuck, _Peter_. Yes. Please, forget studying. Let's just do this for forever. Your tongue. My ass.” He's rambling, but he can't help it.

It feels like too much and not enough at the same time. Peter licks over Stiles’ hole in long, broad strokes, then he traces around it with the tip of his tongue. Stiles whimpers, so sensitive there. The sensation takes over his whole thought process. He can't concentrate on anything but the rasp of Peter's stubble against his most intimate area, the fingertip tugging him open so his tongue can get in deeper. Peter keeps making these deep, appreciative noises that drive Stiles crazy.

“Change of plans, I need you in me now.” Stiles tugs at Peter's hair, pulls him up so he can fucking breathe and get a handle on himself. “C’mon, fuck me.”

Peter's still got one finger edging into Stiles’ spit slick, relaxed hole as he kisses up Stiles’ sternum to his neck. He bites down on the tendon there and worries a small bruise into the skin. “I technically was already fucking you, Stiles. With my mouth, like you requested.” Peter slides his finger in all the way. It stings and feels good at the same time.

“Then do my bidding now, and put your cock in me.” Stiles grins when Peter's free hand grips his chin to force his head back just shy of painfully too far. “It might shut me up.” His voice strains from the angle, even as he grinds his hips against Peter's.

“Why would I want you to stop begging for me? It's quite the ego boost.” Peter licks up Stiles’ throat, and removes his finger from Stiles’ hole.

“We all know how low your self-esteem is.” Stiles shifts on the bed when Peter lets go of his jaw. He reaches for the lube on the bedside table, and pops the lid. “Come on, Peter,” he kisses Peter's temple where the hair is sweaty and tousled. “Fuck me, _please._ ”

Apparently having had enough of Stiles’ snark, Peter growls and rolls Stiles onto his stomach. His breath his humid along Stiles’ shoulder blades as he moves lower. Then he's prying Stiles’ cheeks apart to lap over his entrance in one long drag. The temperature of the lube is a sharp contrast when Peter, the smart ass, squirts it directly onto Stiles’ hole. He skips straight to two fingers sliding carefully inside.

“Still a little loose from last night,” Peter purrs, smug and pleased. “You're such a slut for me.”

“Ngh.” Stiles’ can feel the back of his neck heating up, arousal drowning out the little bit of shame that spears through him. “Less talking, more fucking.” He presses his palms against the headboard and pushes back onto Peter's fingers, sighing when a third one is tucked inside.

A lingering kiss is sucked onto the top of Stiles’ spine, and he can feel the smirk against his skin. Peter is astute. Stiles closes his eyes when Peter murmurs, “my little cock slut.” He crooks his fingers to massage over Stiles’ prostate, working him like it’s second nature.

Thankfully, Peter doesn't ask him to admit it, but he does take his fingers back just when it was starting to feel incredibly good. Stiles makes a frustrated sound that gets cut off with Peter's slicked up cock pushing inside. The stretch takes Stiles’ breath away for a moment, even though they did this just last night.

He just really loves this so much, loves Peter over him and in him. When he thinks about how much he hates being cornered and hemmed in, it's odd that he craves having Peter chase him. They work somehow—the push-pull between them and the calculating view they have of the world. Stiles can trust himself with Peter, trust him to push him further when needed, but listen when Stiles tells him to stop.

Peter's arms wrap like a vice around Stiles’ chest and his body pushes him down into the mattress, hips pistoning into Stiles. Everything combined has Stiles fighting for each breath. The only thing his mind can focus on is the pressure of Peter's cock dragging sparks of euphoria along his nervous system and getting enough oxygen in his body to stay conscious.

“Fuck, fuck.” Stiles pants, words coming out under his breath in time with Peter's thrusts. His own dick is trapped against the bed sheets, aching and untouched, begging for release. He claws at Peter's arms, tugging him closer and pushing him away at the same time. “Please.”

The pressure around Stiles’ chest lessens then, as Peter slides his broad hands around to Stiles’ flanks and downward to grip his hip. He yanks Stiles backwards until he is on his knees. Stiles scrambles to get his elbows beneath himself so he can get a hand on his dick.

“What do you want?” Peter bites the words out, voice rough and a little feral. He keeps a brutal pace that strikes against Stiles’ prostate on almost every thrust.

Stiles doesn't say anything, stroking himself instead. He's so close to climaxing.

Peter stills after stroking back inside. “I asked you a question, Stiles.” He grinds in as he wraps a firm hand around the base of Stiles’ dick. Peter snakes his other arm under Stiles, bracing his palm against Stiles’ sternum and pulling him up.

The change in angle, the way Peter feels inside now, drives a breathless groan from Stiles’ throat. He drops his head back onto Peter's shoulder. Stiles’ grips Peter's forearms, weak suddenly.

“Stiles,” Peter's voice is silky, smooth as he speaks into Stiles’ ear. He drags his fingers slowly—devastatingly slowly—up Stiles’ dick, smiling when Stiles shudders. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, fuck.” Stiles licks his lips, parched, and rocks back as far as he can, onto Peter. “I want you to make me come.”

Peter _tsks,_ “selfish.” But he sounds pleased by that.

He rolls his hips into Stiles before pulling back to fuck back inside. Peter, bless him, just goes for it. He strips Stiles’ cock in time with his own. It's a delicious staccato that lights Stiles up like a fucking Christmas tree. Fingers sliding against Peter's muscled forearms, Stiles can't stop the moaning that falls from his lips.

“You're close,” Peter sounds smug and breathless. He focuses on Stiles’ frenulum, and on sliding his thumb over the wet slit of Stiles’ cock. It's almost just enough to send Stiles over the edge, but then Peter is gripping him by the base again, tight enough to steal Stiles’ breath. “But I get to go first.” Peter kisses Stiles on the cheek.

“Fuck you,” Stiles whines. He's writhing, and he wants to come _so fucking bad._ “Do it. Come.” Stiles glances over, only able to see the side of Peter's forehead in this position. He presses his temple into Peter's cheek. “Come in me, Peter.”

That's all it takes, like Peter was waiting for permission. He pulls out, and thrusts back in two times before he's biting down on the cap of Stiles’ shoulder and spilling inside Stiles. He fucks in with tiny motions as Stiles clenches around him to milk Peter for all he has. Stiles can feel where some of the come has slipped out and is being smeared around while Peter rides out the last of his climax.

“ _Yes_.” Stiles smacks at Peter's arms until the let go. He falls back onto the bed, one arm bracing his weight while he jerked himself off. Peter slides out of him, warm and wet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Stiles starts to come. He practically screams when Peter's fingers push back inside and rub against his prostate. It's intense, too intense. He slams his eyes shut, tears leaking out of the corners as he shudders through his own climax. Peter is licking around his fingers. It sounds so obscene.

It takes several moments for Stiles to be remotely lucid after an orgasm like that. He's aware of the way Peter carefully removes his fingers from Stiles, how he kisses up Stiles’ back, and when he smooths Stiles’ hair back and drops a kiss on his forehead. Stiles awkwardly rolls out of the wet spot he left on the sheets, and watches Peter disappear into the bathroom. He throws an arm over his face when Peter comes back to wipe the mess off of Stiles.

When they're situated with Stiles lying between Peter's legs, chest to back, he picks up Peter's hand and sets it on his chest. Peter takes the hint, and starts drawing mindless designs on Stiles’ skin with a finger. “Best distraction ever.”

He can feel the rumble of Peter's laugh against his back, and tilts his head so they can kiss.

“Do you want me to read to you?” Peter holds up Stiles' textbook with his free hand. He must have made a detour to the living room. It's one of those sneaky considerate things that no one would expect from Peter, that Stiles treasures most.

“Yeah, since it's your fault I took a break. I'm in chapter seven.” Stiles smiles, sated and relaxed. He helps Peter open the book and find where he left off before the sex break happened.

“I don't remember you complaining when I had you on  my cock.” Peter kisses Stiles behind the ear and starts reading out loud.

“Yeah, I guess it was alright.” Stiles squeezes Peter's wrist, laughing when he gets a warning nip on the ear.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think I have anything that might squick someone tagged, but if I missed something, please let me know!
> 
> I'm [here](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, if you wanna stop by. Most of my stuff is NHL hockey related, but my inbox is open for conversation! I need more Teen Wolf, Steter specifically, friends. <3


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